“Your silence is making me uneasy,” Paige said. “So why don’t we forget I said anything. I will—”
“No,” Peggy interrupted, a sudden recklessness flooding her senses. “I … I understand exactly what you’re saying.” She paused. “If you care to drop by for a nightcap, I would be delighted to see you.”
* * *
“I didn’t know you were expecting company,” Annabelle said, pointedly waving a stream of smoke away from her face as Seducta blew a series of smoke rings into the air.
“These women are not company,” Armand replied, drinking champagne. “They are paid-for whores, here to entertain us. They will do whatever we want. Does that excite you, Annabelle?”
She thought for a moment, realizing that she was heading onto dangerous ground. This was not what she’d expected, not at all. However, if she planned on nailing Armand, it seemed as if she would have to join the party or make a fast exit.
“’Scuse me,” Luscious said, hopping off her bar stool with an indignant expression. “We’re paid for, but that don’t mean you gotta ignore us. We’re people too…”
“Take your clothes off and keep your mouths shut,” Armand ordered. “Do it now.”
And without waiting for a reply, he turned to Annabelle and once again stuck his hand roughly up her skirt.
She automatically pushed his hand away. This was all happening too fast.
“More champagne, please,” she said, trying to appear cool in the face of such disturbing circumstances.
“I’ll offer you better than that,” he said, marching into the bedroom and returning with several small glassine bags of cocaine.
“Shall we?” he said, walking toward the glass-topped coffee table.
Damn! Annabelle thought. Another Frankie Romano scene. I sure can pick ’em.
Meanwhile, the two hookers were disrobing in a desultory fashion across the room, flinging their clothes in a corner until they were bare-assed naked except for their shoes. Then they hovered, waiting for instructions.
By this time Armand was alternating swigging champagne and snorting lines, feeling no pain, feeling as if he could take control of the entire world. And he would. When he’d disposed of Lucky Santangelo, there would be no one to stop him.
On his alcohol- and cocaine-fueled high, Armand was becoming more and more determined that Lucky had to be … what was the word that lingered in his mind? Ah yes—assassinated.
The word thrilled him; it revolved in his brain like a mantra. The whore bitch deserved to die. And he would be the one to make it happen.
If they were in Akramshar he could arrange to have her stoned to death. Buried in the ground up to her neck while big jagged rocks were thrown at her until she died a painful and slow death. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible in America. What a shame, because Lucky Santangelo was the slut whore of all women. She deserved many punishments.
Lucky was his dear mother pushing her breasts up against him when he was a child, before beating him with a leather strap while her friends looked on.
Lucky was all the whores he’d ever had sex with, the dirty, filthy, disgusting, money-hungry whores.
Lucky was his dumb wife, who’d given birth to children he’d never wanted.
Oh yes, Lucky Santangelo was the woman who deserved to be punished for all of them.
It was only fitting.
And when she was gone, The Keys would be all his, and life would finally be perfect.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The moment Lucky spotted Alex entering the club with an attractive Asian girl on his arm was the moment she decided it was time for her and Lennie to split. By this late hour she knew that Alex would’ve had quite a few drinks, and when Alex had been drinking, anything could happen, so she figured it was wise to get out while the going was good.
But Lennie had other ideas. He wanted to stay.
Lucky knew better than to try to change his mind. Like herself, Lennie did what he wanted, and he wouldn’t budge until he was ready to leave.
He and Alex had an edgy relationship filled with macho posturing, for not only did they both have a thing for Lucky, but they were both director/producer/writers. Not that they were in competition with each other. Lennie made low-budget independent movies, while Alex went the studio route and put together big, high-profile movies—usually controversial and generally critically savaged or acclaimed, depending on the critic. The fact that they both did the same thing always made it interesting. They argued all the time, about other people’s movies, politics, books, sports—anything they could think of.
Lennie was well aware of how Alex felt about his wife, but he did not possess the knowledge that once—long ago, during the time he’d been kidnapped and Lucky had thought he was dead—she’d actually slept with Alex. One time. One time only. Alex had never forgotten their one night together. Lucky had tried to put it behind her. In her mind, it was a regrettable mistake.
“There you all are,” Alex said, walking straight over to their cabana, the pretty Asian girl trotting behind him. “Can we join?”
“Sit right down,” Lennie said, making a magnanimous gesture. “Room for everyone.”
* * *
Prowling around the edge of the dance floor, Bobby was experiencing an emotion that was new to him. Jealousy. He was actually jealous! He could hardly believe it himself. There was Denver, the woman he loved—the woman who professed to love him—and she was dancing closely with another man. A handsome and muscular man.
The deejay was playing some kind of slow smoochy sound, and the dude on the dance floor was taking full advantage. He had Denver pulled in close, and it looked like she was enjoying it.
Fuck it! Bobby was livid. He hit the deejay stand in a hurry.
“What’s this slow-assed shit you’re playing?” he demanded. “Change it to something fast, now! You’re turning this place into a morgue!”
Startled, the deejay switched to Pitbull, and Bobby nodded his approval. He glanced over at the dance floor to watch them separate, but they didn’t.
What the fuck? Was the dude deaf? He still had Denver pulled in close, and she was making no move to get away.
Bobby felt a jealous burn he’d never felt before, and he didn’t like it. The burn was mixed with a slow-rising anger, an anger that was telling him to do something. But what? He’d never found himself in this position before. Ever since he could remember, girls were always fighting over him. Girls in high school, girls in Greece (where he’d spent the summers with his father’s family), girls in college, girls in clubs. Girls, girls, girls. Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos. He was always the prize, always the guy they wanted.
So no, he had never actually found himself in this position, and it was a pisser.
He circled the floor, hoping that Denver would notice him. But she didn’t, because the dude she was dancing with was talking into her ear while pressing up against her. Meanwhile, everyone else on the floor had split apart.
“What’s up, Bobby?” Gia asked, appearing beside him. Sexy Gia, with whom he’d once spent several memorable nights.
“Nothing much,” he said.
Gia got it immediately. “Your girlfriend looks like she’s having a good time,” she murmured with a spiteful gleam in her eye. “Who’s the guy? He’s cute.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Do you know him?” he asked.
“No,” Gia replied with a low laugh. “But I’d like to.”
In a fit of pure frustration, Bobby took Gia’s arm and pulled her onto the dance floor.
Let’s see how Denver would like this turn of events.
* * *
Max took a cab to the Cavendish, where Billy had informed her he was staying in one of the high-roller villas. Of course he was—he was a movie star, and movie stars always scored the best accommodations.
She was beyond excited. Billy had come to Vegas especially to see her, and after the gloom and despondency she’d been feeling about their short time together
, this was totally unexpected and more than awesome. She couldn’t have wished for a better present.
Billy Melina is my birthday present, she thought. He flew to Vegas just for me.
OH … MY … GOD!
Then she remembered that Ace had also made the trek to Vegas to see her, and she started feeling pretty guilty about the way she was treating him. Ace was a cool guy.
But Billy was cooler.
Shivering at the thought of seeing him again, she wished she’d worn a better outfit. She had on leggings, high boots, a cut-off top, and a slouchy sweater. Cute enough, but nothing spectacular.
Thank God Billy hadn’t booked into The Keys. Awkward. She could just imagine Lucky’s face if she spotted her darling daughter with the soon-to-be ex of her best friend. Even more awkward, Venus was in town and was obviously going to be at Max’s birthday party.
Max felt a twinge of guilt, but only a twinge. It wasn’t as if she had come between Billy and Venus. Their divorce was well under way when she and Billy got together.
After the cab dropped her off at the front of the hotel, she made her way through the casino and out the back to the leafy paths that led to the villas.
Billy had sounded totally psyched to hear from her, and if he was telling the truth, he’d come to Vegas only to see her. How great was that?
Okay, Billy, I’m on my way! she thought, and once again she shivered with anticipation.
* * *
Frankie did a line or two with Gerald M. in the men’s room. They were bonding big-time.
Frankie had no idea where Cookie was, but he figured she was off doing her thing somewhere, and that didn’t bother him because he’d already got what he’d wanted out of the relationship—a strong connection with her famous father. He liked Gerald M. The man was a star, and even better, he acted like one.
If Frankie had to make a choice, it would be daddy every time—girls were crawling all over Gerald M. Pretty girls, sexy girls, girls willing to do anything to get up close and personal.
Cookie was cute, but if he really thought about it, she was just a kid, and he was way out of her league.
He was Frankie Romano, after all. He had to reach higher.
* * *
Jorge had almost finished his stories of woe—an impoverished childhood, a lack of any adult supervision, begging for food, robbing tourists, sleeping with tourists, and finally his arrival in America and his meeting with Venus.
“She use me,” he said vehemently, his handsome face darkening. “I know that.”
How about you’re using her too, Denver wanted to say. But she didn’t, because the more Jorge talked, the more upset he seemed to get.
“Look,” Jorge said, gesturing toward their table. “She ignore me. She treat me like ship.”
“Shit,” Denver murmured, correcting him while thinking that it was time to find Bobby and leave, as he’d promised they would as soon as he’d finished taking care of whatever it was he had to take care of.
Then she spotted him dancing with Gia, and she was rendered speechless.
First of all, Bobby was actually dancing! And not very well at that. Second, why was he on the dance floor with a girl who he’d admitted was one of his exes?
This was unacceptable.
“Excuse me,” she said, hurriedly breaking away from Jorge. “There’s something I have to deal with.”
“I come too?” Jorge asked, a look of dependence in his puppy-dog eyes.
“No,” Denver said. “You go back to Venus. I’m sure she misses you.”
And she headed toward Bobby and Gia, a determined look on her face.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
When Paige knocked on the door to her suite, Peggy couldn’t help feeling slightly anxious. Was Paige simply there to talk? Or were matters of sexual gratification on her mind?
Either way, Peggy had decided she would go with it. Why not? She was lonely. She hadn’t had sex since Sidney’s demise, and she wasn’t getting any younger. She also had a son who obviously consorted with prostitutes, a lackluster social life, and no male partners. Besides, she’d never forgotten the softness of the women’s lips when they’d exchanged kisses and more in the sanctuary of the king’s harem. It was a fond memory.
Although it was late, Paige had changed outfits, and instead of the pale-blue cocktail dress she’d worn earlier, she was clad in leather pants, a black turtleneck, and a brown leather jacket. With her lack of height, pocket Venus body, and cropped copper hair, from a distance she could almost be mistaken for a male. It was obvious Paige was into this. Peggy felt like a novice, and yet at the same time extremely feminine.
She fixed Paige a drink, and they sat on the couch, where Paige proceeded to tell her the story of the time Gino had walked in on her pleasuring his previous wife, Susan Martino. And how, after that, threesomes were quite the norm.
“Gino used to be an amazing lover,” Paige confided. Then she gave Peggy a penetrating look and added, “But you already know that, don’t you?”
Peggy felt a blush rise on her cheeks. So Gino had remembered. “I … I didn’t think he would recall that night so long ago,” she said. “It was only one time, but yes, I have to admit—he was an amazing lover.”
“Gino might be old, but he has a steel-trap memory,” Paige said, toying with a gold bracelet. “As soon as he saw you, he knew.”
“That wasn’t why I introduced myself to you,” Peggy quickly explained. “It was pure coincidence that it turned out you were married to Gino.”
“I’m sure,” Paige replied. “But what does it matter? It brought you and me together, and here we are, cozy and alone with no one to bother us.”
“Doesn’t Gino mind?”
“Gino doesn’t know. I tucked him up in bed with a couple of Ambien, and he’ll sleep through until morning.”
“Oh,” Peggy responded as Paige leaned toward her and touched her lightly on the cheek. “Then I guess—”
“You guessed right,” Paige purred, her hands moving toward Peggy’s still very nice breasts.
Peggy closed her eyes and thought of how pleasant it was to once again be the object of someone’s desire.
* * *
Luscious was getting fed up. The dude with the snake eyes and snotty attitude might be paying them a shitload of money, but what was the deal leaving them shivering and naked in the corner while he drank champagne and snorted lines with the girl she’d seen on TV a couple of times? What was that?
The only good thing about it was that she’d had the opportunity to check out Seducta’s body—the body she figured Randy might possibly be lusting after. Seducta’s tits were ridiculous.
Luscious couldn’t help smirking to herself. Why would Randy want to go with that when he had her to come home to? She might not have giant fake tits, but at least hers were the real thing.
Although she would never admit it, Luscious was mad that Seducta had gotten Mikey to marry her. She’d been with Randy for almost a year, and he’d never mentioned the word marriage. She waited on him hand and foot, never nagged him, and sucked his dick whenever he wanted. Goddammit, Luscious considered herself the perfect girlfriend.
She glanced over at Seducta, who’d now gotten several miniature bottles of scotch from behind the bar and was going through them at an alarming rate.
Drunken twat. Luscious preferred to stay sober, just in case. A girl never knew when a john could go postal and beat the crap out of her. It had happened to her once, and she carried the scars to prove it. Some old rocker dude with a penchant for girls crapping on his face had beaten her up when she’d refused to do what he’d wanted. She’d ended up in the emergency room getting sixteen stitches under her chin, and several on her forehead. Ever since then she’d worn bangs and plenty of makeup so no one noticed, but she knew the scars were there, and that was enough for her to make sure she stayed alert.
She took another quick peek at the john, still hunched over the coffee table snorting coke with his girlfriend—alt
hough the girlfriend didn’t seem to be as into it as he was. The girlfriend was definitely hanging back.
Luscious felt like laughing out loud. These rich assholes with their delicate little coke habits didn’t know dog shit. The real thrill and a way quicker high was smoking crack cocaine. Yeah. That was the shit, and Luscious should know, for she’d been doing it on and off since she was sixteen.
Randy, on the other hand, was into speedballs; he swore they gave him the best high ever. A line of coke followed by a powerful snort of heroin—Randy called it his dream combination, and it certainly put him in a euphoric state.
Luscious had tried it a couple of times. It frightened her, so she was canny enough to stick to the drug she was used to.
Speedballing led her to another planet.
Planet out-of-your-fucking-mind.
* * *
“Not for me, thank you,” Annabelle said politely as Armand laid out even more lines. She was not a coke freak like Frankie Romano, who’d become so totally dependant on it that it had put her off him. “I would prefer another glass of champagne.”
“You would, would you?” Armand replied, slurring his words slightly.
“If it’s not a problem,” Annabelle said, getting the distinct feeling that maybe Armand wasn’t the man of her dreams after all. This entire situation was surreal. The naked hookers in the corner. The mounds of cocaine on the table. Eddie Falcon might have cheated on her, but as far as she could tell, he wasn’t into prostitutes and drugs.
She wondered where Eddie was. They’d had a knock-down, drag-out fight and she’d walked out on him, but there was nothing to stop her from walking right back in. It wasn’t too late.
Armand was making no move to pour her another glass of Cristal. She could tell the hookers were getting restless, especially the little one with the bad dye job and various tattoos on her skinny body. Where on Earth had Armand found these two freaks? And what were his plans for them?
Annabelle made a quick decision: whatever his plans, she did not wish to be included. A fast exit was in her future.